


got blood on my name

by OhMaven



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Angst and Fluff, Canon Divergent, Comfort, F/M, Fix-It, Gen, Rebelcaptain - Freeform, basically the bbies need some happiness, can't be tooo happy, eventually, familial OT3, rebellion-centric
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-08
Updated: 2017-01-09
Packaged: 2018-09-15 19:28:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9252485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OhMaven/pseuds/OhMaven
Summary: She could leave, Jyn realized. Go anywhere she wanted. The Alliance, with its rules and its orders and structure would never sit well on her shoulders; Jyn knew that. Still, whenever she tried to think of where she might go she could only picture Cassian appearing at the top of that tower, coming back for her. All she saw was Bodhi Rook’s desperation to reach them, to haul them into the bay of the ship. He had come back for them. Two men. Two unspoken promises kept. Jyn wasn’t sure what they were doing next, but she couldn’t leave them until she knew.





	1. Chapter 1

**JYN**

 

Med Bay had been under guard since their unexpected return from Scarif.

Bodhi’s quick thinking and (unexpected, if she was being honest with herself) abilities as a pilot had gotten them off the planet, and away from the Empire’s attack squads well enough. They’d been the last ship to return, Bodhi pulling double duty at the controls; Jyn in the bay, holding Cassian’s head in her lap and furtively wiping the blood dribbling from between his lips on the cuff of her shirt. Medics had arrived, peeled Cassian from her grip, and left Jyn and Bodhi slumped against the ship. Eventually the slender man had moved to her side, wrapped her arm over his shoulders, and hobbled them both along in the wake of the medical team doing their best to save Cassian’s life.

Jyn had spent several hours being examined from head to toe; no one would _tell her_ anything but she really hadn’t expected them to. When it was all said, and done, she was a rogue rather than a rebel, and had never been _one of them_. Nobody gave her any instructions at her discharge other than to stay off her wrenched ankle (and on the crutches provided), and a small packet of pills for the pain. Bodhi, they were keeping overnight for treatment of his burns. Cassian was nowhere to be found, and she doubted anyone was inclined to tell her _where_ the wounded, near-death Intelligence Officer was being kept.

In the end, Jyn had limped in the direction of the mess hall; there she’d settled with a cup of caf, a bowl of some sort of cold soup, and the packet of painkillers.

She’d sat there for long enough that the soup had risen to room temperature, and the caf had gone cold. Long enough to draw attention to herself. Long enough to wonder what the fuck she was still _doing_ here when a voice at her elbow growled, “Erso, is it?”

With a quick swivel, she turned to stare at the junior intelligence officer. He lacked any of Cassian’s suppressed warmth, and something in his demeanor told her he’d never rise to a rank as trusted or talented as her – her what? Her friend? Her partner? Jyn didn’t actually know _what_ to call Cassian Andor. Their relationship had sprung up so unexpectedly, so _deeply_ , that she didn’t know how to cram him back into the box of acquaintanceship. She realized, belatedly, that she hadn’t answered the man – and his limited patience (shouldn’t he have _more_ for this line of work? Cassian did.) was running out. Jyn jerked her chin down in an abrupt nod, and slowly stood. He didn’t offer her the crutches leaned beside him, so she took them herself.

Their walk was long enough for Jyn to feel the ache in her armpits from the pressure of the crutches, but brief enough that she wasn’t even winded when she found herself standing in Command once more – staring at Mon Mothma and General Draven.

“Well,” Jyn said curtly. She was sore. She was worried. She was still sick about the dead they’d left behind. She didn’t _really_ want to be dealing with the people in this room. They were not the Rebellion, not to her, and they never would be. “I assume you wanted to see me?”

Draven’s mouth popped open to speak, but thankfully, it was the senator who spoke first.

“We owe you a debt, Jyn Erso. You may have incited rebellion within the Rebellion-“ Jyn appreciated the play on words in what she assumed was a concession to Draven, who looked likely to pop. “But in doing so, you’ve given us a great gift…at a cost to yourself.”

There was sympathy in Mon Mothma’s voice, and in her steady gaze. She was better at people than Draven was, and it made her more tolerable to work with. “We can arrange a transport for you, anywhere you like. Once the plans are returned to Command, we’ll see to it that your father’s creation is destroyed.”

She could _leave_ , Jyn realized. Go anywhere she wanted. The Alliance, with its rules and its orders and structure would never sit well on her shoulders; Jyn knew that. Still, whenever she tried to think of where she might go she could only picture Cassian appearing at the top of that tower, _coming back for her_. All she saw was Bodhi Rook’s desperation to reach them, to haul them into the bay of the ship. He had _come back for them_. Two men. Two unspoken promises kept. Jyn wasn’t sure what they were doing next, but she couldn’t _leave_ them until she knew.

Jyn wet her lips.

“If it’s all the same, I’d rather wait…until Captain Andor is stable.” She steadily ignored the surprise in Mon Mothma’s expression (pleased, she was sure of it) and the displeasure in Draven’s.

They’d assigned her a room (a closet, really, but it more than sufficed; Jyn had slept in _far_ worse places and likely would again,) and she had the impression she was meant to stay there.

Which brought her back to the fact that Med Bay had been under guard since her unexpected return from Scarif. Bodhi was in there, and _Cassian_. Her first approach had been rebuffed; she didn’t have the clearance to enter Med Bay. Clearance _be damned,_ Jyn wasn’t a soldier to sit idly by and let that go unchallenged. She was a rogue more than she was a rebel, and no one had stood between her and what she wanted – not for long, anyway. She’d returned with a truncheon.

Careful blows left two armed guards unconscious against the floor, and Jyn slipping into Med Bay with an unrepentant expression on her face. Maybe they’d eject her from the base. Maybe she’d find a way _back_ in. You didn’t keep a woman with her talents out without expending a lot of resources; she expected they’d see it her way _eventually_.

Cassian she located first, floating in a bacta chamber. Jyn couldn’t tell how bad he was, but they hadn’t just shoved him off in a bed somewhere to die, and that was comforting. So she found Bodhi Rook, sleeping under the influence of medicine. His steady breath was comforting; she pulled a chair close, eased the boot off her bad foot, and propped it on his bed (she’d ditched the crutches somewhere already) and settled back in her chair.

The deep breathing of Bodhi Rook lulled her into the first real sleep she’d had since before Eadu. When the soldiers of the Rebellion found her there later, quiet orders trickled down the ranks to leave her where she slept.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BOHDI ROOK IS PRECIOUS AND BAE. IN CASE YOU WERE WONDERING. ALSO A GODDAMN HERO.

** BODHI **

 

It was a cold darkness. Cold, and slimy, and it wrapped around him and it _squeezed_ and Bodhi Rook felt like it would shatter him into a thousand pieces. It was his mother standing in her small kitchen, offering him a knife to chop vegetables; the knife is covered in innocent blood. ( _Whose_ blood?! What has he _done?_ ) It was the harsh laughter of Saw Gerrera, mouth opening to reveal several rows of sharpened teeth, grating and gnashing as he asks what an Imperial _cargo pilot_ thinks he can do to make a difference. (He’s been _so_ complicit, for _so_ long, and there’s blood running over the floor, clinging to his boots and his fingertips and he thinks he might _drown in all the lives he’s stolen_.)

It was tentacles, twisting around his neck so tightly he couldn’t breathe. It was warping his reality, robbing him of truth, stripping him of artifice, and leaving only a shambling wreck in its wake. He didn’t know what was real, and what was fiction, and what was _Bor Gullet_ and all he could do was clutch the grenade in his hands and beg it to go off. All he could do was throw it as hard as he could.

There was a voice in the darkness, halting and broken, whispering that he could _make it right_ and if he only knew one thing it was that he had to save the daughter of the man who was his only life raft in this sea of blood. He was the only one who could save her, because there was one other truth, one other _important reality_ that he could exchange the grenade for.

_I’m the pilot._

“I’m the pilot,” Bodhi Rook muttered, thrashing out with his limbs as he tried to swim against the current of blood. He struck something soft and unyielding, grasped the hiss of pain that came from a throat not his own. “ _I’m the pilot,_ ” He said again, eyes coming open with a start and a gasp. He stared at the brown stone ceiling above him. _“I’m the pilot_.”

“You’re the pilot,” agreed a voice to his right. Bodhi turned his head, took in the woman who had spoken. Her face was worn, the lines around her mouth too deep to be right, to be _true_. Perhaps this was another illusion of Bor Gullet, carving his brain out of his skull chunk by chunk, memory by memory. The woman reached over suddenly, her hand leaving a swollen ankle propped on his bed (her foot, he realized belatedly, the thing he’d stuck had been her _foot_ , with his leg.) She gripped his forearm now, willing him to look at her. He dragged his eyes to hers, focused on the tired blue-gray depths, the near-bruised look of the bags and circles that accompanied them. Familiar eyes. “You’re the pilot,” she repeated. “You’re Bodhi Rook.”

The words grounded him, and although her steady voice was so different in pitch and timbre from the masculine one of his dreams, he _knew_ her. “You’re Galen’s daughter.”

“Jyn,” she confirmed. He couldn’t find any pity on that face, and a knot in his chest eased. He remembered the sound of her body hitting the hold of his ship as he desperately lifted from Scarif, remembered the sound of her voice screaming for him to get them _out_ as he pulled from talents he hadn’t even known he’d possessed to clear them of the Imperial fleet arriving over the planet. Bodhi remembered the feeling of her body against his as they’d limped across the hangar together.

“Jyn.” Her name felt right on his lips. This was a thing that was true, a _new_ thing, something Bor Gullet hadn’t been able to take from him. She was a new memory, a _hard_ memory. A woman like Jyn Erso didn’t have room in her for pity – only the sort of understanding he’d craved since the moment he’d defected. “I’m sorry.”

The woman’s – _Jyn’s_ – brow crinkled as she stared at him. “Why?”

For not being able to save more of them. For being too late to save Chirrut and Baze. For being the one to _live_. Bodhi had so many things to be sorry for, so many absolutions that – despite Galen Erso’s assurances – he knew he could never make them all right. Bodhi blinked his stinging eyes, hoping she didn’t see the tears, didn’t pity or revile him for this weakness. Jyn Erso was strong – she was made of _kyber_ he thought, powerful and strong. She didn’t seem to register either, though, and merely squeezed the forearm beneath her hand.

They sat like that for a long moment, Jyn’s leg resting on his bed, and her body bent to reach out and grip his arm. Bodhi was surprised that she’d bothered to find him (was even more surprised that she wasn’t glued to Captain Andor’s side) but he was too grateful for her presence to question it. Jyn was like a star, pulling others towards her in a strong gravitational pull; her gravity held him stable, let him know where he was supposed to be. Bodhi’s left hand shook as he lifted it and draped his arm over his stomach so that he could lay it on her hand. Because it seemed like the right thing to do.

“How’s your ankle?” He finally broke the comfortable silence, and then realized it was something he _could_ apologize for. “I’m sorry I bumped it earlier.”

Jyn shrugged, and finally sat back, sliding her hand out from beneath his. “I’ve had worse. It’ll heal up if I stay off it, I suppose.”

She grinned at him, and he scowled harder. Bodhi didn’t have Cassian’s brooding face, or Baze’s _sheer size_ but he was stubborn like a small, wiry, weed. Making amends could be as simple, he realized, as making sure _Galen Erso’s daughter_ stayed off her injured foot.

“Bodhi,” she began suddenly, and Bodhi was sure he didn’t want her to finish her thought. _I’m the pilot,_ he reminded himself, a mantra that steadied his breathing. “How did you get so burned?”

He squirmed under the intensity of her gaze; Jyn Erso _was_ like a star, but for all she grounded and pulled she also _burned_ and he felt the white-hot power of holding her undivided attention. Bodhi wished Cassian were here, so she could look at _him_ that way, instead. “The-There was a grenade.” His hands gestured, fluttering like delicate insect wings. He’d always talked with his hands, but Bor Gullet seemed to have intensified the habit. “I managed to-to _catch_  it and…”

Bodhi mimed throwing the grenade out the back hatch.

He didn’t miss the way Jyn’s eyes widened, or the hitch in her breathing, and neither did he miss the way she slumped back into the chair, stretching her leg and inching her foot closer to him. The grin tugging at her lips wasn’t _quite_ that not-so-secret smile she seemed to reserve for the captain, but it settled better on his senses. Familial. Not the weight of expectation and desire everyone on the Rogue One team had sensed between Intelligence Officer and Rogue-in-Chief. He liked it better. In fact, he liked it so much, he tried the grin on his own lips, and tucked his hands behind his head. The movement pulled at his burns, made them sting, but it was worth it to see Jyn mirror his pose, feel her nudge his thigh with her foot.

“Bodhi Rook, you’re a damn hero.”

No one had _ever_ called him that before. He wasn’t sure he entirely believed it, but he _wanted_ to, and so he let the word settle into the place in his brain next to Jyn – a place Bor Gullet couldn’t touch or reach.

“So.” He spoke, feeling more _confident_ and more _settled_ than he had since he’d awakened to Cassian’s voice in that cell. “Where are they keeping Captain Andor?”

“Bacta tank,” Jyn replied. Her voice wasn’t sharp exactly, but he could hear her worry. He felt it, too. Cassian Andor had been the first to treat him with any measure of kindness after his defection. Bodhi wouldn’t forget the gentle tone that had finally broken through, or the way Cassian hadn’t hesitated to take his experience and his knowledge to heart on Eadu. In fact, the Rebel captain had never treated him like he was broken at all. Bodhi had been scared to death by the rattle they’d both heard in Cassian’s chest.

It had sounded like death.

His eyes went glassy at the thought, the rattle of Cassian’s death bleeding into the grating of Saw’s laughter.

“Bodhi.” Jyn’s hand was on his knee, her grip tight. “ _Bodhi Rook._ ”

He blinked, opened his mouth to apologize, but was stopped by a stern shake of her head. Jyn didn’t say it, but he got the impression _she_ felt that his condition was nothing to apologize for. Another knot loosened.

“Have they told you when he’ll be out of the tank?” His voice was meek, but Jyn didn’t comment. Instead she laughed; it wasn’t _grating_ in the way that Saw’s was, but it shared the same lack of amusement.

“I’m not even technically supposed to be in here,” She told him. “I don’t think they like the corrupting affect I’m having on the good captain.”

“Oh.” That didn’t surprise him. Jyn had sucked Cassian into orbit first and foremost, and Cassian Andor was a _dangerous_ man, despite his capacity for compassion and gentleness. Or perhaps because of it. “You’re not…you’re not _leaving_ are you?”

For a moment he thought she was going to say that she was, but that grin (the one he’d only seen the once previous, just moments ago, the one that he wanted to be _his_ in the way that smile was _Cassian’s_ ) returned to her lips, and she lifted the blanket on his bed enough to slide her foot under it.

“Not yet,” she said.


End file.
